


Where You Feel it Touching the First Sounds

by LaDonnaErrante



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Afterlife, Angst, Azkaban, Canonical Character Death, First War with Voldemort, Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, References to Homophobia, Remus/Sirius Games, Seasons, Second War with Voldemort, Team Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-11 06:06:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1169588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaDonnaErrante/pseuds/LaDonnaErrante
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their relationship has always been as liminal as an early fall day, hovering just the edge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where You Feel it Touching the First Sounds

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my lovely beta for your encouragement and help! All remaining errors are my own. The characters world belong to JKR and the title and section headers belong to Rainer Marie Rilke.
> 
> Prompt: "At no other time [than autumn] does the earth let itself be inhaled in one smell, the ripe earth; in a smell that is in no way inferior to the smell of the sea, bitter where it borders on taste, and more honeysweet where you feel it touching the first sounds. Containing depth within itself, darkness, something of the grave almost.” ~ Rainer Maria Rilke

 

 

**More Honeysweet**

  
The sun is high in the afternoon sky and a crisp breeze blows on the moor. It brings the fresh smell of mown hay and the slightly pungent odor of overripe fruit. Remus stands at the Apparition Point, wrapped in a warm jumper, his eyes closed, feeling the sun on his face. Sirius should be arriving any moment. The dry crack of Apparition sounds and Sirius appears before him, long hair pulled back and a mischievous grin on his face. He is damp and stinks of wet dog but can’t resist pulling Remus into an enormous bear hug. Remus lets him, huffing out a short laugh.

“We’d better get going. We want to make it before dark,” he croaks out, airways blocked by the hug. Sirius lets go and Remus pulls out a map, smiles slightly, and nods his head in the direction of the safe house. “You and your maps.” Sirius shakes his head.

“I refuse to repeat the Andalusia incident.”

“What? We ended up having the best gazpacho known to wizard kind! I think three hours of wandering is a more than fair price to pay.”

Remus bumps his shoulder. “You and your stomach. C’mon.” They set off for what Dumbledore said was a cottage an hour’s hike away. They have only a few days together between missions and have been instructed not to appear as more than a pair of muggle hikers.

When they finally do arrive, Sirius throws his rucksack onto floor, looks around and says, “Real luxurious this is. Dumbledore should’ve warned us about this hovel.” Remus just raises an eyebrow at that, starts fire in the heart with a wave of his wand and instructs Sirius to get a start on the wards.

“Can’t be any worse than when you’re off on reconnaissance duty, camping with James.”

“That,” Sirius says with disdain, “is work. This is supposed to be a break.”

“Which we are lucky to have,” Remus is terse but not displeased. “There are a lot better ways to spend it than complaining about the accommodations.”

“I am used to a certain standard of--mphmmm.” Remus pulls Sirius into a kiss, soft and slow.

“Unfair tactics,” Sirius says against Remus’ mouth. He grins and then begins to kiss a line down Remus’ throat, sucking a small hickey at his collarbone.

A honey warm light fills the alcove of the cottage where the bed sits. They take their time, undressing one another, letting hands skim playfully over patches of skin in the afternoon sunlight. Remus brushes his fingertips lightly over Sirius’ shoulder, raising hairs along his back. Sirius inhales deeply, burying his nose in the ticklish skin of Remus’ armpit. Remus smells like the best parts of a fall day at Hogwarts, the papery smell of fallen leaves and the sweet spicy scent of warm pumpkin juice. Sirius breathes him in, trying his best to memorize that smell, to hold it for as long as he can.

When the light has turned blue and Sirius is resting his head on Remus’ shoulder, he lets out a pleased sigh. Remus wraps an arm around Sirius’ shoulder and taps his fingers gently, mindlessly.

“What is it, Moony?”

“What is what?”

“You never fidget unless you’re worrying. What are you worrying about?” He pokes Remus gently in the ribs.

Remus swallows hard. “The war, how many more times we’re likely to get to do this, what will happen if Voldemort wins, whether you’ll still love me if we both survive.”

Sirius snorts.

“Don’t,” Remus warns. “I know you can approach life as if you were flying your broom straight into a hurricane. But I can’t do that. I can’t ignore what we might lose or how much we have already.”

“Sorry,” Sirius murmurs, pressing as small kiss into Remus’ ribcage, “go on. No good can come of holding it all in.”

Remus looks down and sees Sirius’ somber expression, meets his eyes for a brief moment, before he feels his own well up. He looks away, taking a deep breath.

“It’s been so long since we’ve been able to do this, since I could just…” His voice breaks. “Since I could just hold you. And you’re here now, so real, Sirius--so overwhelmingly you.”

Remus stops and Sirius wants to reach a hand up to Remus’ face, to touch and comfort. He knows that even the slightest movement might cause Remus to clam up, so he settles for a low “hmmm”.

“And in another twenty-four hours, we will be gone. All of it will be just a memory. And I know this sounds stupid, even though I know can feel you in my arms now, I am also already feeling you missing. You’re right here, but it’s as if you’re gone already and my arms are empty.” Tears are streaming freely now down both their faces.

“Remus, I’m here.” Sirius shifts, sits up a bit, to take Remus head onto his chest, stroking softly at his back. “Sshhh. I’m right here, Remus. I’m here.” Remus’ chest heaves a few times and he quiets, breathing slowly, his fingers remain tightly curled, digging into Sirius’ skin. There is a dull ache in Sirius heart. The knowledge that he can’t actually change this, that there isn’t healing to be had here, weighs on him. He squeezes Remus tighter, breathes in the brine-musky scent of their mingled tears and sweat and holds on.

 

**Where it Borders on Taste**

  
Sirius watches as the harvest moon rises, casting a dim light in the cell. His joints ache and the cold stone floor pushes against his bones uncomfortably. Everything is grey, has been grey for so long now that no other colors exist. It even smells grey. He cannot say he is used to the stench by now; though the sharp notes of feces and vomit are dulled and familiar, they are omnipresent. He cannot shake the feeling that every breath is already rotten. He spent the day as a human today--ministry inspections required it--and it has left him drained. The memories that had flooded his mind as the senior Aurors toured, accompanied by a swarm of Dementors, were the first he had allowed himself in a very long time. The sound of his mother screaming shrilly that the House of Black was not a house of faggots as his father stood sternly behind her, meeting his eye. The moment that Hagrid pulled baby Harry out of his hands while his heart broke. That it took him three whole days of mad grief in the aftermath to realize that this meant Remus too was innocent. That he had broken everyone who cared for him.

The moon is large tonight, round and yellow, near on the horizon. It taunts him, hanging as if in reach; he thinks he could almost touch it through the bars. He only knows it to be harvest moon because he knows the moon so well. Remus taught him how to read its phases, what to make of its size and position on the horizon, how to interpret its color. He wonders now, where Remus might be. Probably, he is holed up in a ministry facility, just as cold and miserable as Sirius is now. Bones stretch and break--the wolf emerges in a howl of fury. Sirius has only witnessed the actual transformations a handful of times, but echoes of the experience played again and again in his head today, and are made fresh again now by seeing the moon, realizing that if he had chosen differently, had placed his trust in the right man, that man would not be suffering alone tonight. Neither of them would be.

Sirius feels a dementor approach, and shifts into Padfoot. A whiff of the sea hits his nostrils, salty and full combined with the rotten odor of Azkaban. A breeze carries in the tangy aroma, but he can never quite catch enough of the sea scent to block out the stench of urine and vomit and too many bodies. Maybe it’s the moon, or just that the visitors today tracked in seasonal detritus, but Sirius thinks he can detect the familiar late-fall smell of wet leaves, rotting slightly, but still sweet in the air as well. The smell brings him back to a different time. He remembers rolling with Remus on the damp floor of the forbidden forest. The scent of so many creatures on the breeze—centaurs and Acromantula—creatures they were careful not to let the wolf go after.

If there is one thing that Sirius hates more than being locked up, more than carrying the guilt of being innocent, than having to live as a dog to keep his mind, it is losing the seasons. The way everything has faded to grey, he can mark the passage of time loosely as the chill winter wind brings snow to the island and the other three seasons bring sheets of grey-blue rain. He would give almost anything for the bright fragrance of a garden in spring, the sharp, earthy perfume of a freshly picked summer tomato, or the warm, full smell of baked apples on an autumn day. He curls in on himself and dreams of chasing rabbits through the forbidden forest.

 

**The Ripe Earth**

  
Sirius heard the echo of his laughter in the Department of Mysteries as he fell slowly. The fall ended suddenly, but he hadn’t landed hard. He had expected the bruising iciness of the marble floor, but instead there was just the feeling of earth beneath his shoulders. There was a breeze and the dark rich smell of dirt. From afar he could still hear the battle raging in the Ministry.

Harry! Harry was screaming, crying out terribly. He had to do something.

Instinct took over and his body tensed. He tried to run forward into the action. He could see them all--Bellatrix’s grin and Remus trying to hold Harry back, barely able to contain himself. Hard as he pushed, Sirius met only layer after layer of fog. A gossamer curtain was suspended before him and with his every attempt to push it out of the way it became thicker, more impenetrable. “Harry!” Sirius yelled. “Harry, I’m here. I’m right here.” And then he saw Remus’ face, closer now, but still behind a wall of fog. It was horribly twisted, he held Harry close to him, knuckles white and whispering something fiercely to the boy. Harry kept insisting that he was right there. Why Remus couldn’t see that? His own name, in Harry’s loud call echoed over and over again in the darkening room. He could make out Remus’ voice only faintly, but there was something in his voice, a weary finality that caught Sirius; attention.

“He’s can’t come back, because he’s d--”

A nauseous emptiness overwhelmed him as he heard Harry yell back one final time. Was he dead? Was Remus right? Where was he? The confusion and frustration overtook him and he ran forward with a shout of frustration, flailing his arms, hoping to find a wall to push through.

He tried anything that could get him back into the fray, back to his family. His arms found nothing but stale air. The harder he struggled, the thicker the fog grew and the raging battle faded into the background. Sirius stumbled forward, falling to his knees. He reached for his wand and, finding it, cast lumos. Nothing happened. He tried again. The darkness remained.

“Shit.” Swearing felt good, so he let out a stream of curse words that would have made even Dumbledore blush. The catharsis allowed him to think more clearly and he sat for a moment, trying to remember where he was before the fog. Department of Mysteries. Oh. He had a sudden realization—the death chamber. His heart pounded, and his mind froze momentarily. Remus was right. There had been so much raw pain in his face. And he wouldn’t lie to Harry. Not if there was a chance he was wrong. He remembered the quiet, fierce love in Remus’ “He’s gone.” And he knew that he, Sirius Black, was dead and there wasn’t anything he could do about it.

Sirius moved forward slowly, on his hands and knees still, clawing at the earth beneath him. There was a slightly stale stench, but it was so blended with the fresh smell of soil that it barely registered. Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the darkness enough to make out a long chamber that split at the end. As he approached the fork in the path, he saw both tunnels were dimly lit. Relying on all his senses, he inhaled deeply at each entrance. The left tunnel smelt of apples rotting slightly in autumn sunshine while the other smelled sweetly of honey and freshly baked bread.

Sirius chose the sweet smell of rich earth and honeyed bread and the warmth of firelight, passing from one world into the next. As he walked through the tunnel, he came into an apple orchard. The sun was high over the trees and the air was crisp. Roaming the orchard, he came upon a small clearing with a cottage, complete with a quaint wooden fence and a bench. Smoke was puffing gently out of the chimney, but Sirius had a feeling the place was uninhabited. He sat down and spread his arms along the back of the bench, tilted his face up into the sun. It had been so long since he’d felt the sun on his face. He breathed in deeply the smell of the leaves and the dirt and thought of Remus, whose solid weight he could imagine against his side. If Remus were here, he would rest his cheek on sun-warmed sandy hair and press a kiss into it. Remus would let out a sigh of relaxation and sink deeper into the embrace, curl his fingers in Sirius’, and pull Sirius’ arm more snugly around him. If Remus were here, he would smell of wool jumpers and spiced tea, He thought of Remus, so many years ago, already feeling the loneliness of war and prison and early death that had always been their fate.

They had been young, and so scared, then. He didn’t feel fear now—just the emptiness of the space beside him and a deep longing in his chest.

When the sun set and the chill breeze made it impossible to stay outside, Sirius made his way into the cottage and stood before the blazing hearth, warming his hands. As he stared at the leaping flames, Remus’ face appeared in the fire, for a brief moment, looking lost and alone.

“Remus, I’m here, I’ll always be here,” he whispered, knowing that Remus could not hear him, hoping that still somehow, he would know. His voice grew stronger, “I’m here; I’ll be here.  
Whenever you get here.”

Enveloped in the sweet-smoky scent of burning wood, Sirius wondered how long he would have to wait.

 

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [October 31st, 1981](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2498237) by [LaDonnaErrante](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaDonnaErrante/pseuds/LaDonnaErrante)




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